


Snow Gray (East Germany's Story)

by ArchangelUnmei



Series: The Flautist's Fairytale [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, F/M, M/M, Music, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold on this side of the Wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Gray (East Germany's Story)

It's cold on this side of the Wall.

He knows it's still Berlin, but that doesn't make it any more bearable because he knows just as well that it's also Russian territory.

Russia's started calling him 'Kalingrad'. Everyone else has nervously begun following suit, except for Poland, who still dares whisper "_Prussia_" in his ear during stolen moments of defiance.

But he feels disconnected from them, from that house. He does not belong there, and he does not care to follow Russia's rules. So each morning he dresses, then he goes outside. He closes his eyes and thinks of Paris, of Budapest, of Vienna. Then he steps to the west, one. Two. Three sends him slamming into the Wall, knocking the breath from his lungs, but at least now he's in Berlin. It's closer to home than Moscow will ever be, at any rate.

At first, he tries yelling for his brother, screaming until his voice has fled and his tongue goes numb. He never gets a reply, though he can often feel Germany _right there_, just on the other side of a Wall made of concrete and ice and communism.

When it becomes obvious that words are not getting through, he brings his flute. It is the one thing that Russia let him keep. "You play so pretty, da?" he'd said, with that snowy smile of his. "Like a little bird in a cage."

And so he plays, standing staring at the Wall. He imagines each note flying forward to chip a little more concrete away.

As the years pass, he wonders if he might be going a little mad. His mind wonders while he plays, remembering times long long past, times when he was still an empire. Times when Germany was small enough to carry in his arms and rock to sleep. Times when he was strong enough to fight and die and still keep fighting.

The music makes him think of Austria, of that stupid piano. He always refused to believe that there was another instrument that could be more superior. Thought like that make him play harder, longer, as though he could show Austria what a flute could do even though he's no where close.

At this point, the music's all he's got.

The residents of East Berlin know him on sight, and the tips he brings back from his playing make Russia happy enough that he's still allowed to go.

He plays until his fingers are numb with cold, until his lips are ready to fall off. He wills the music to reach his brother in West Berlin, to reach Vienna, to reach all of Europe.

Once upon a time, he'd played for Sleeping Beauty, to keep him from going mad while he was trapped in darkness.

Now he plays for himself, for the same reason.

~*~

**Historical Notes:**

...Holy crap, none this time! Other than that Budapest is the capital of Hungary, and Vienna is the capital of Austria.


End file.
